It thundered, lightened and rained for half the night. Unfortunately it was dark so I couldn’t see what sort of clouds they were! Big black ones I think and anyway I haven’t got to thunder clouds yet, they’re in the next chapter.

We motored on down the coast passing through Port Gaverne - we ‘d gone out the other side before we realised we’d got there, Port Isaac was too busy, and then Port Quin. There was a car park and 5 houses, but the little cove was lovely, all owned by the National Trust.

The story is that one night all the men of the village were lost at sea during a storm and the women left the village which became deserted for a few years. Apparently what really happened was the local mine closed forcing the families to move for work.

We had a chat with a local, who had moved here from Plymouth, he was digging for lug worms. He’d retired and now spent his days fishing for Bass. We couldn’t fault him, I think we’ll have to have a spade! Last trip I forgot my rod licence, this trip I’ve got my licence and my rod but no reel!

The tide was out exposing a rocky beach with rock pools and some lovely sandy areas that begged to be walked over. I didn’t disappoint. The wind was perfect, the sun was perfect so up went the kite and camera. If there are any KAPers out there reading this, we can manage when we take 190 photos and get 12 good ones but what do you do when you take 200 and get 190 good ones? It was the perfect KAP day.

We found some hitherto unknown green tentacled sea anemones which have gone into my ‘to be identified later’ folder, beautiful creatures!

Time was getting on and we still had nowhere to stay the night so we hit Padstow and immediately bounced straight back out! Inland was the cry and before we knew it we heading for Bodmin Moor. Was this the moor where that hound lived? We were about to find out. We survived again so by process of elimination it must be Dartmoor, perhaps we will test it on the way back home.

Thursday morning was dark but dry and were up early. We wanted to visit The Hurlers. Two stone circles on the moor. It was still cool because the sun wasn’t very high but we managed to fly the kite and take some photos. A difficult subject but we got at least one favourable picture.The circles were on a beautiful bit of open moorland but without bank or ditch. We walked widdershins around the first circle and deocil around the second but didn’t feel anything from either. No happiness, no good, bad or sad. It was as though they were in suspended animation waiting for the time when they will be needed again. I’ve been reading too much Arthur. Unfortunately I didn’t have my dowsing rods so couldn’t check for any earth energies.

I found some more unknown toadstools which were duly photographed and filed away for a later day.

The weather was miserable, low stratus cloud with no sun so we found Restormal castle near Lostwithiel. I love the sound of that place, Lostwithiel. Obviously hundreds of years ago somebody of importance in the village lost his withiel and spent his life crying through the streets has anyone seen my lost withiel? The locals of course referred to the place as ‘you know, that village lost withiel,! Nice story though ain’t it?
Back to the castle. It was perfectly round on a motte with a deep ditch surrounding it. It belonged to the Dukes of Cornwall and even Edward, the Black Prince spent one of his Christmas’s here. I haven’t been able to find out where he spent the others!

The inner walls were built parallel to the outer making the rooms all curved with huge windows each side of a massive fireplace. I could just see myself sitting spinning and weaving in one of the window seats with magnificent views of the surrounding countryside. Unfortunately the wind was not strong enough to fly a kite,. The castle will make a beautiful KAP subject and we’ll definitely be going back.

Down in Fowey we followed the main road to the quay. The signs showed maximum width 6ft 6 inches and they weren’t kidding. In places there was not enough room for a vehicle and a pedestrian and you had to very careful about missing the doorsteps.

It was a very old place but all the shops were for tourists so any shopping had to be done in St Austell. We called into the RNLI shop because I had two fiction books that I had finished with but they aren’t allowed to sell anything that is not RNLI related. The lady manning the counting offered to take them to the local hospice for me.

It was a lovely sunny afternoon with nothing better to do than lean on the harbour wall and watch the ferry. We could actually cross over on it to continue our journey.

We didn’t, we went to St Mawes instead. On the way we passed over a lovely old stone bridge and Pat couldn’t help but comment on the good fishing that would be there. As we crossed he amended the statement to ‘no there ain’t’ and when I asked him if the sign said ‘no fishing’ he said ‘no, it says British Rail’! The mind boggles at what sort of catch we could have got there.

St Mawes has a castle built in the 16th Century on the eastern shore of Carrick Roads. It’s opposite number on the western side near Falmouth is Pendennis Castle. Between them they protected the inlet.

The castle itself looked like a bottle top from the car park, not even worth the walk never mind the entry fee. But we are members of English Heritage and it was free so in we went to have a look. I’m glad we did, it had 3 bastions on different levels giving it a clover leaf outline from above. This would be a good KAP subject. All the canons, and there were many, were facing seaward and this proved to be it’s downfall because when Cromwell attacked from the land they couldn’t defend themselves and surrendered without firing one shot.

Down towards to the beach they built 2 rooms with thick walls that house the tons of gunpowder and the shot. The rooms were ventilated to keep an even humidity and the holes would also help dissipate any blast should the worst happen. There was a blast wall built across the front, again to minimise damage outside the building. The same sort of precautions are still used today.

As the English Heritage flag was flying straight and level we put the kite and camera up but the wind was only blowing up to height of about 50 ft and no matter what we did the kite would not climb. The photos were disappointing but at least we won’t have any problems on which ones to keep!

St Just in Roseland was on our route and Pat remembered from 40 years ago that the church on the cliff was very pretty. We parked up and walked through the gardens towards the church. It was downhill all the way and the burials have been made all over the steep wooded graveyard. The flowers are Mediterranean with Palm trees and lots of bamboo. There were channels that ran into ponds and the whole effect was quite beautiful. People from all over the country have been buried here and I noticed one ’Mum and Dad’ from Worksop. The older headstones were all covered in lichen and moss straight out of the horror movies. Under the trees late at night it would be most eerie.

As it was such a beautiful day we decided to visit Mevagissey. Our biggest mistake was to get Floss (Sat Nav) to navigate. She took us down roads where the grass not only tickled both sides at the same time but also the underside! It was very nerve wracking but after 5 miles we turned a corner and there was Mevagissey in all it’s splendour looking for all the world like a Spanish seaside town, with it’s whitewashed buildings and Palm trees, even the sea was Mediterranean blue. I couldn’t find one brick built building in the whole scene. I wonder if the planning department insist on all buildings being painted white.

The town dates from the Middle Ages and was busy as a fishing port for Pilchards which were salted and exported abroad. The streets were indeed very narrow and I can’t understand the logic of painting double yellow lines on a road that is so narrow that if you park, you cannot open your door to get out of the car! Perhaps a council clerk ordered too much yellow paint and then had to justify it.

We had stroll around the harbour, now only private boats moor, and down the high street dodging passing cars by diving into shop doorways. It’s the only place I know where when you step out of your front door you’re in danger of getting your toes run over.

In the car park we had another couple interested in the van. They retired and sold the house and now live on a Caravan Park as the summer camp commandants and winter caretakers. They’ve been here 5 years and are thoroughly enjoying themselves.

The way out of town was much easier on the nerves. At least this road had room for a white line down the middle as well the obligatory yellow ones at the side!

To anyone from my ex workplace who is reading this….. I found out last night that Pat, who is proof reading my logs, has been deleting the second space after a full stop. He wasn’t aware of the CoW checks! I have explained to him the theory and we apologise for any errors in the last three entries.

Sylvia……………… We went to Boscastle next as you suggested. The Witchcraft museum was the main attraction although I did have to walk as far as I could along the harbour. The slate rocks felt slippery underfoot and my vertigo kicked in, a safety device I think because one false move and you were tumbling down the rock straight into the sea, the wrong side of the breakwater with no way out except swimming. Pat finally managed to get me back to the safe side of the breakwater without any mishap.

The harbour is quite fantastic and somewhere Pat’s read that if the Atlantic waves don’t get you then Boscastle Harbour will. The cliffs rise almost vertical to about 150ft on both sides and the inlet then goes round to the left, past a breakwater that juts out halfway across the channel and then curves right before finally bursting free into the Atlantic. If you can find it from seawards you are brilliant because there are no landmarks that I can see, but if you can then negotiate your way safely into the harbour, you should be captain of a Starship.

By the time we got back the Witchcraft Museum was open. I loved the Pentacles burnt into the wood above the front door and the Broom park for visiting witches (Pat’s a terrible passenger so I’d left mine at home). Once inside I enjoyed reading the history, but it’s really sad, the persecution of the village wise women and men must have been horrendous. I can’t help wondering how many others suffered because they could not find anyone with the knowledge to mix up a potion to cure their toothache, headache or other ills.

The museum obviously has all the instruments used to torture the victims and they were truly barbaric and we can only be thankful that as a race, we have grown beyond this type of persecution.

I loved some of the lucky charms and talismans they had on show and I’m certainly going to have a go at making some for myself. They’ll look good in our back garden, if we’ve still got one when we finally get home.
I was intrigued to see how many of the exhibits are protected by modern lasers and couldn’t help wondering why they hadn’t used protection spells. Perhaps modern man doesn’t believe in the power of thought!

Some of the exhibits were also gruesome, a mummified hand with a finger hanging on by a bit of bandage, a lot of dolls with pins stuck in them and dolls held over flames. These were obviously meant to cause hurt and harm to the victim but I can’t quite believe this of the everyday witch who’s creed is ‘So long as ye harm none, then do as ye will’. To ‘harm none’ is a huge task and not many of us today can honestly say we have never caused harm (include upset in that) to others.

Once back out in the sunshine we (my mouse and I) wanted sea and sand so off we went to Bude. We stopped in a layby for lunch and met Herbie, a lovely young crossbreed dog, a greyhound and wolf I think. He was so friendly his owner had no other option but to come and talk to us. His family had lived in the area for 5 years. They had sold up in Ipswich and bought a carpet cleaning business in Crackington Haven and never looked back since. He said they’ve felt on holiday for 5 years. They’re now saving for a caravan for weekends away and he wished us well with our travelling.

We arrived in Bude and having parked up it seemed a day for meeting people because we hadn’t left the van before we met with Rene (pronounce rainy) and her son Mike, who were interested in the van. She was Polish and lived with Mike locally. She also has a daughter in Vienna and sometimes goes on holiday there and has the best of both worlds. They invited us over to their house for a chat and coffee, an offer which we took up that evening.

We finally got onto the beach with the Kite Aerial Photography gear and took some low shots of a boat or two before the Dakota aircraft in the Dunkirk colours came flying by. It was Mike who told us that the beach at Westward Ho! is used as a landing strip for that aircraft.

Back at the van we were accosted by an elderly chap who again liked the van. He was a happy soul and loved our sticker that shows one finger in the air and accompanied by the words ‘ Two grumpy old farts boldly going nowhere’. He told us to look for his Fiat Panda ‘cos on the back he’s put ‘The poor man’s Range Rover’ and ‘Poxy Panda’. I don’t think he’s over keen on it.

That evening we visited Rene and Mike and Rene and I hit it off straight away. She’s 84 but makes all her own clothes, she paints, she knits some fantastic Aran cardigans and she does tapestries, very artistic. She showed me her portrait work and they were beautiful.

She told me that when Germany invaded Poland she was taken as slave labour to work for a high ranking German officer. For 3 years she worked 7am to 11pm hand washing for 7 people, keeping the house clean and tidy and lots of other tasks, it was very hard work. After the war ended she became a displaced person and was living in some Barracks near the River Elba. The British had control and she exchanged her portraits for food and soap. It was here she met Ernest, who tried to get her over to one of the barracks in the West because the Russians were going to take over. She knew she would be taken to Siberia or killed if she did not get out and found herself on a train. Luckily the train took her to a town where displaced persons could stay in barracks with the British in charge. Safe at last she started selling portraits to the soldiers and when one of them recognised her he told his Sergeant, Ernest. Ernest helped her get rooms in Hanover where he was billeted and like all good fairy tales they married.

Rene showed me some suits she had made, they were gorgeous wool and tailored. The one I tried on fitted like a glove and she would dearly have loved me to have it along with a brightly coloured print silk dress. As much as my heart wanted to take them, I knew they would only have sat in my wardrobe and I had to decline. I still think that dress would have looked good on me.

Two and half hours later (we were only going to stay for I hour) we left in a furious thunderstorm. We felt very privileged to have been invited into their home and treated as long lost relatives.

We survived our night on Exmoor without any strange bumps or howls in the night and woke up to a lovely sunrise, the only trouble was it was red and we all know what that portends!

The previous day two trail motorbikes had passed through on the bridleway both sporting bright yellow labels announcing them to be equestrian marshal’s. They were hanging bright orange ribbons at 25 yard intervals to bracken, trees, gateposts etc along the bridleway. This was obviously a very important job and Patrick and I discussed the why’s and the wherefores of this particular manoeuvre but failed to understand why a bridle road needed markers!

On the way over Exmoor we stopped in a beautiful spot on the River Barle and despite the fact it was only 9.35 in the morning we just had to stop for elevenses. I took my morning drink and stood on the bridge, not only drinking my coffee but drinking in the view as well.

I saw a flash of electric blue which could only be a Kingfisher and I kept my eyes fixed on the bush into which it had flown. I was rewarded for my patience because it suddenly flew out and hovered over the water like a huge chestnut breasted humming bird. It plummeted head first towards the river flashing it’s electric blue back. With hardly a splash it was flying back to it’s perch with breakfast. I watched it dive 3 times as it slowly worked it’s way up river. Another dragon moment found and recorded, these are my magic moments.

We meandered along the coast road to Ilfracombe. Neither of us had been there before and I can’t say we were over chuffed but there was one fascinating little fact I’d read. There is a chapel on the crag that has a lantern like structure on the roof. The hill, which is known as Lantern hill, is about 100ft high and a steady climb. A light has been shining from this chapel for 650 years to guide sailors home. It’s a lovely little building and the views are excellent. It is still used as a Chapel and has a small photographic exhibition. I’m sorry to say that I didn’t get dates but there was a picture a baby girl being baptised and another, several years later, of the same girl getting married.

We followed the path round another hill and as I looked down onto the jagged rocks and crags below I felt that I should be seeing dwarf’s and Auk’s with a slinking Gollum climbing over the rocks. It was one of those times when perspective can get the better of you and you could imagine yourself to be 6,000 feet up looking down onto a massive area of jagged mountains 2 and 3000 ft high. A quick blink of the eyes and you’re back to 175ft. Fanciful I know but I’ learning to let my imagination take the lead.

I got my paddle at Woolacombe, it was a fantastic beach, long and wide. At the Northern end there were some needle like rocks all jutting out of the sand at a 45 degree angle and plenty of rock pools around them with starfish(one), sea anemones (dozens) and I saw one tiny fish. The rocks were covered in barnacles which at a distance gave the rocks a very intriguing look. The lightness of the barnacles made the whole scene almost transparent giving it a mystical air.

It was getting late in the day so we drove down to Westward Ho! A modern town founded in 1863 and named after Charles Kingsley’s adventure story about Elizabethan seafarers. There are 3 miles of sand which I now know is sometimes used for a Dakota airplane to land on.

We camped next to the ‘Scooby doo house’ for those of you who have kids, however old, you’ll know what I mean. All that was missing was the lightning, music and of course the monster. It’s a lovely old, rambling house now standing empty on the edge of the sands.

The sky had been full of Stratus clouds until 5 o’clock when they turned to Nimbostratus and started to rain us. Yes, I have my Junior Weather Forecaster’s book!

Next morning it was still raining and we agreed that a walk up Kipling’s Tor in the fog (actually very low stratus) was out of the question. Rudyard attended the college at Westward Ho! Between 1878 and 1882 and, well you can guess can’t you, the Tor was named after him.

The clouds had now turned from heavy rain producing Stratus to High Cirrus in an azure blue sky giving good weather and even they dissipated by lunchtime and it was suddenly gorgeous. So gorgeous in fact that we shot straight down to Tintagel. I have always wanted to visit King Arthur’s Castle. I know, I know it’s only a myth but there must have been something going on at that time. Someone who managed to persuade all the clans to band together to fight off the raiding Saxons. I don’t think he had any dragons to help him though!

I was in heaven, Pat was in hell, it was down the hill, a steep hill only to have to climb up the staircase to the castle entrance. We met a couple walking back to the car park and they were weaving from side to side to lessen the gradient. I couldn’t resist it, much to their amusement I started singing the conga song. She insisted it was her husband’s idea and just knew everyone would thing they were drunk, but after hearing me sing she decide we were maybe all drunk. I certainly was on happiness. I loved it, my lungs were burning, my heart pounding and legs threatening to collapse but I still climbed every set of steps I could find, and photographed the view in all directions, I looked over every wall and photographed the view, I looked through every window I could find and photographed the view and I photographed Patrick amongst the ruins. Now, Patrick I didn’t say that! I said amongst the ruins.

We crossed over the to the next crag another staircase down and back up the other side and they were very steep, it’s pity I didn’t count them The archaeologists have found evidence of human habitation for over 2000 years and I had to walk all around the edge, photographing the views and sea crashing onto the rocks, I was in danger of running out of camera memory! The cliff was made up of flat layers of rock and you could walk to the very edge and look down, but what you didn’t see was how much they had been undercut! I decided to stay well back, well I’m no lightweight.

I was intrigued with the caves and cliffs both North and South and could have sat for hours just looking. Photographs never do that kind of scene justice, I just hope I can carry the feeling and views with me. I loved the atmosphere of the place as well, it was almost teasing, never giving up it’s secret of what really happened and who Arthur was. I enjoy being able to use my own imagination and picture Merlin sitting in his cave reading old spells on parchment trying to find a way to deal with Morwenna, of Arthur and his knights sitting in the castle planning the next battle against the Saxons, I could go on but I’m getting RSI.